


Exothermic

by childoflightning



Series: just keep stumbling forward (baby im waiting for you) [23]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: ABA 'Therapy', Ableism, Ableist Language, Alternate Universe - After College/University, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Anxious Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Autistic Logic | Logan Sanders, Gen, Insecure Logic | Logan Sanders, Logan Sanders-centric, M/M, Meltdown, Multi, Other, Patton is trying his best, Self-Acceptance, Self-Discovery, Self-Hatred, Sensory Overload, Stimming, Virgil has PTSD, Virgil has a Service Dog, communication is key, internalized ableism, shutdown, sorry Roman isn't a bigger part of this he kind of just didn't wanna show up?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-06-27 05:59:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19784686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/childoflightning/pseuds/childoflightning
Summary: Since he was a child, Logan had always been so incredibly angry. For years he's tried to shove down within himself and not let anyone know. But every once and a while the rushing anger he feels comes pouring out. And he doesn't know why.





	1. Reactant

**Author's Note:**

> **TW: Sensory Overload, Meltdown, Abuse of a Minor, Ableism (Internalized and Otherwise), ABA Therapy, Dehumanization of an Autistic Character**  
>  In-Depth TW in End Notes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **TW: Sensory Overload, Meltdown, Abuse of a Minor, Ableism (Internalized and Otherwise), ABA Therapy, Dehumanization of an Autistic Character**  
>  In-Depth TW in End Notes

Logan knew it was a Not Good day before he even got out of bed. A very Not Good day. But he didn’t have time for a Not Good day, because he had promised to meet Patton, his boyfriend- **his boyfriend,** His Boyfriend, _his boyfriend_ \- for breakfast. So, with a bit too much anger he pressed his phone screen harshly to stop it’s too loud screeching. He usually set his alarm on vibrate, but he must of messed it up the other day somehow.

The first thing Logan did when he got out of bed was shove his headphones over his ears. Which made getting dressed a pain, but Logan needed the silence. He just needed it. He allowed himself a hiss of frustration and wrung his hands, but exited his dorm anyways. If he didn’t leave now, he would be late. And he had promised to meet Patton for breakfast.

It became an Even Worse day the minute he stepped into the cafeteria. There were just so many people and so many noises. Logan shut his eyes tightly and resisted the urge to scream and curl up into a ball. He couldn’t do that right now. He had promised to meet Patton for breakfast.

He wasn’t exactly sure how he ended up with food and seated at a small table with Patton in the corner of the room, but suddenly, there he was. And Patton was talking to him. And now he was looking at him.

Logan opened his mouth, desperate to say something, anything. But found that he couldn’t. He couldn’t say anything. Why couldn’t he _say_ anything?

Patton gave him a look, but Logan was much too tired to even attempt to decipher his meaning. Then, Patton reached out to grab his hand. And that was the last straw.

Blindly, Logan leaped up and ran. He raced out of the cafeteria, out into the yard, through the dorm buildings, and eventually to the edge of the quad where His Tree was. Once he settled beneath it, he finally screamed.

When he came back into awareness, Patton was sitting ten feet away from him, watching him with wide eyes. Logan rubbed his own and yawned. He was more than a little exhausted.

“Hey,” Patton said gently, “How are you doing?”

Logan just blinked at him owlishly.

Patton frowned, and scooted towards him slightly.

“It’s- You don’t have to say anything,” he offered, “Can you- Maybe just hold up fingers on a scale from one to five? One being good and five being the worst you’ve ever felt?”

At those words, Logan froze. He didn’t exactly know where or why the intense fear appeared in his body appeared, but suddenly blood rushed to his ears and his heart pounded. He felt like in a deer and headlights. And with that fear he finally forced his voice to work for just a few more words.

“Leave me alone!” Logan demanded, before standing once more and racing off.

* * *

_When Logan was five_ he entered kindergarten. He knew is teacher’s name was Ms. Lobel and that she liked the color purple, because her nails were always that color. He also knew that even though Ms. Lobel was his teacher, he spent most of the day in Ms. K and Ms. A’s room. Along with the Helpers, Ms. P and Ms. Jack.

He wasn’t sure why all of them except Ms. Jack went by their initials, but when he had asked they had told him not to worry about it. When he asked again he was told it was time to do something else. When he asked a third time he was warned that he wasn’t Being Good, and if he kept being Not Good, he would get in trouble. When he asked the fourth time he was sent to the corner and was told to put his feet on the floor and his hands on his knees and stay there.

At two minutes into his punishment he was shifting from side to side. At five minutes in he was playing with his hands. Ms. K saw him and walked over, firmly grabbing his hands and telling him to stop and be still. At the sudden sensation he stood up and screamed, ripping his hands away from her. She responded quickly by grabbing his shoulders and forcing him to sit down, holding him there until he stopped moving and screaming. He sat there for another twenty minutes. He never asked about their names again.

One day, a paper was taped to his desk. It wasn’t supposed to be there. He was always told to keep his desk clean. So, slowly and surely, Logan began to peel it off, making sure not to leave any of the sticky remains on the table. The sticky remains felt the absolute Worst.

“Logan!” Ms. P said sharply, and quick as possible Logan stopped what he was doing and dropped his hands to his desk. Neither hand touching the other, palms flat against the desk. Quiet Hands. Just like he was supposed to.

“What are you doing?” Ms. P asked him.

“There’s something on my desk,” Logan explained.

She walked over to it and sighed loudly, shaking her head. She reached over and touched his desk- his desk! His personal space! He didn’t like the intrusion. She smoothed the paper back down before stepping away.

Logan relaxed slightly once her hands were off his desk, but he refused to relax completely in her presence.

“That’s supposed to be there Logan. We’re going to learn a new skill today.”

Logan almost frowned before remembering he wasn’t supposed to do that. He didn’t like new skills. The last new skills had been Quiet Hands and Don’t Be Bad. Logan didn’t think they made much sense and he didn’t like doing them. But he knew he had to Listen to the Teacher, so he did them anyway.

“What’s the skill?” he questioned, hoping it wouldn’t be anything too bad.

“Logan! What have we said about tone? It hurts people’s feelings,” she reprimanded.

Logan blinked. He hadn’t even realized he was using A Tone.

“Sorry,” he apologized, though he wasn’t really sure what for. But that was another rule, Say Sorry When You Make a Mistake.

“Very good! Good job saying sorry! That makes me feel better. Now the skill we’re going to learn today is called the Five Point Scale. _Are you ready?”_

* * *

The next day was better. It definitely wasn’t a Good day, but it also wasn’t a Not Good day. It was an It Just Is day. Logan thought about it the previous day for a moment, guilt slamming him full force.

He had told Patton to leave him alone. He probably hated Logan by now.

With that thought, Logan scrambled to his phone, desperate to fix things. His mind raced as he tried to find not only the energy to explain what had happened but also just how and why. Honestly, he still wasn’t completely sure of those things himself.

He turned his phone on, and a few texts immediately filled the screen. Logan gulped and read them. It was probably Patton telling him he didn’t want to be boyfriends, or maybe even friends anymore. Logan had pretty much broken all the rules and skills yesterday. And he knew he had to obey those rules and skills to be Good. And people didn’t want to talk to or look at or go out with Not Good people like Logan had been.

In result of these thoughts, Patton’s texts came as a complete and utter surprise.

> Patton: Hey Lo, sorry ur not doing well.
> 
> Patton: I’ll leave u alone for now and give u some space until ur ready
> 
> Patton: And maybe when ur doing better we could talk about what happened?
> 
> Patton: No pressure whatsoever. I just want to understand. lmk. <3

Logan blinked the texts, his free hand coming to rub up and down his pants leg until he caught himself and mentally berated himself. Quiet Hands. He shoved his hand in his pocket and texted the first thing that came to mind.

> Logan: You’re not mad?

Once he hit send he left to make himself tea. It wasn’t a Not Good day. Which meant that he had energy. And on all the days he had energy, he made tea in the mornings.

His phone chimed, and Logan stepped away from where he was watching the water heat to grab it.

> Patton: I’m not mad
> 
> Patton: Can I come over?

Logan thought about it for a moment. He didn’t want Patton to leave him alone for forever, but he really did want him to leave him alone right now. And he wasn’t sure why Patton was so nice. Logan had said mean things and he had hurt Patton’s feelings and-

Logan clenched his hair tightly and screamed.

After a moment he typed out a response.

> Logan: Yes

Because Logan really really didn’t want Patton to come over. But Patton was being so nice and kind and patient. And Logan was being angry, and terse, and making a mess out of nothing. And he wanted to still be Patton’s boyfriend. He wanted to still be Patton’s friend. And Good friends, Good people, weren’t mean when their friends were nice.

And so he sent the text.

* * *

_“What’s the Five Point Scale?”_ Logan asked. And well, at least the name didn’t sound to bad, even if the pictures on the piece of paper were slightly unsettling.

“Okay, well see here,” she pointed to the green number 1 and the smiley face, “One is for when you’re doing great! When you feel good and you feel happy and your behaving, okay?”

Logan nodded, he did know how to read. Pretty well too. For a kid in kindergarten at least. He had scored a 5.4 on his reading test. At first he thought that meant he did bad, because 5.4 out of 12 wasn’t very good. But when he had talked to other kids in his class, only eight others had even scored on the chart at all. Out of those eight, only two were above a 1.5. All of them were below a 3.5. Logan didn’t really know what the numbers actually meant, but he did know that he could read well for his age.

“Good!” she said with a large grin, and pointed to the next number. “Two is for ‘I am doing OK’. That means you might be a little frustrated or unhappy, but you still do as told and you don’t get angry. Next, Three is ‘I am getting really irritated’. When you feel a three you need to come tell a teacher and take a break from a bad situation. Got it?”

“Really?” Logan asked, eyes wide. A butterfly of hope filled his chest. “If I’m upset I can take a break?”

Ms. P frowned.

“Not exactly. This is for when you get upset like the time you had to sit in the corner. Remember? The corner gets to be your break spot.”

Logan’s hope plummeted. The corner was a punishment, not a break spot. Logan voiced as much.

“Logan,” Ms. P sighed and tutted as she shook her head, “The corner is not a punishment. The corner is where you’re supposed to go cool down when you get angry.”

“I wasn’t angry!” Logan protested, even as a flame inside of him started to burn, “I asked a question and you didn’t answer it and then I got in trouble!”

“You have to learn that you’re not always going to get an answer Logan. Sometimes things just are.”

Logan huffed at that and shook his hands out and began to rock back and forth. The motion was soothing and familiar and the spark inside of him started to calm down.

Ms. P caught the movements and gave him a look.

“Logan,” she started, voice already shredding and grating on Logan’s nerves, “That’s not proper behavior. You know this. Sit Still and have Quiet Hands.”

But Logan couldn’t. This was all he had. And maybe she was right, maybe he did need to take breaks. Because he didn’t listen. And Logan was always so so angry. But he bit his tongue and she carried on.

“Four is for ‘I am getting too angry,’ this is when you get angry enough that you don’t just need a break, but a safe space. And you can go there until you can follow rules and calm down, okay?”

Logan tilted his head, “Where is my safe space?”

“The corner of course,” Ms. P replied, as she gestured to the previous mentioned and truly horrific corner.

Logan made a face. But he didn’t like the corner. He only got sent there when he was Not Good. He didn’t want to be Not Good. Plus…

“If I go to the corner for both a three and a four, what’s the difference?” he asked.

“Well when you’re a three, you’re still behaving well. A four is for when you start misbehaving.”

Logan scrunched up his face further.

“But,” he started, “What does that have to do with being angry? I don’t disobey when I’m angry. I don’t even get that angry. I only get angry when…” he trailed off, unsure how to finish his own sentence.

But what he said was true, he only got angry in very certain situations situations when-

“When you can't behave you get angry and being angry leads to more misbehavior. Remember, you need to follow the appropriate way to do things. If you can’t do that, that’s misbehaving. And misbehaving isn’t Good, and you don't want to be Not Good, right?”

Logan frowned and shook his head.

He definitely did not want to be Not Good. But he didn’t know how to explain the fact that he only got angry when he wasn’t allowed to do things like rock, or hum, or recite songs, or talk about Lego’s, or flap his hands.

But I guess that was Ms. P’s point. He couldn’t follow the rules. And he got angry when he couldn’t follow the rules. Which, according to Ms. P, made him Not Good. _And Ms. P would know, she’s a teacher._

* * *

Patton opened the door after knocking slightly. Logan nodded from his place on his bed. He sat stiffly, hands flat on his knees, reminding him to not move them and not to play with them. Quiet Hands.

“Hey,” Patton said as he entered.

Logan just gave a nod.

Patton smiled softly and sat down right next to him, his thigh brushing Logan’s own. Logan was wearing shorts while Patton wore jeans, meaning he could feel every fiber of the material against his leg, itching and distracting him. It was very uncomfortable. Logan didn’t move.

“Hey, you worried me yesterday,” Patton told him, taking one of Logan’s hands softly.

Logan wanted to rip his hand away at the touch but forced himself to stay still. Ripping away his hand would be considered rude. And Logan couldn’t be rude. Patton was trying to help him.

“Um, is- is this an autism thing?” Patton asked gently, only slightly stumbling over the words as he tried to figure out what to say.

Logan shook his head.

“No,” he insisted, “It’s just. I just-” he bit himself off with a frustrated groan, and wanted to yell once more.

“Hey,” Patton said softly, as he settled his other hand on Logan’s. With both of his, he held one of Logan’s hands, stroking and petting it softly.

Logan could only guess that it was supposed to be soothing, but in reality it felt like billions of tiny insects crawling over his body.

“Stop,” he whispered.

“Hm?” Patton asked.

“Stop,” he repeated firmer, “Stop! STOP STOP STOP!”

* * *

_“What’s five for?”_ Logan asked, mostly just hoping that all of this would be over with soon.

“Five is ‘I can’t stand this. I’m ready to explode’. That's when a teacher actually needs to move you or stop you from doing something because you’re so angry.”

Logan frowned, “Like what?”

“Like when you screamed at Ms. K the other day and wouldn’t sit still so we had to hold you down, remember?”

Logan remembered.

“So that’ll happen again?” he asked, big eyes wide. He didn’t like that.

Ms. P frowned, “Only if you can’t behave. But I think you can behave, right? You can be good at being Good. You only have yourself to blame for being Not Good, right. You just need to try harder.”

Logan frowned. He wasn’t sure about all of this, but if Ms. P said so.

And well, Logan wanted to be Good really really bad. So if that meant he wasn’t allowed to do things like flap his hands or talk about what he liked or doodle or rock or cover his ears at loud noises or get angry, well Logan could learn to do that, right?

_Right?_

* * *

Logan started to scream once more.

“Five! Five! Five!” he shouted at the top of his lungs.

He was barely aware of Patton at his side still.

And so he shrieked and cried and shook and Patton just sat there.

Because neither of them had any idea of what to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **In-Depth TW: Sensory Overload** (Logan experiences two sensory overloads), **Meltdown** (Logan has a meltdown caused by sensory overload as well as other things. He gets angry and screams a lot), **Abuse of a Minor** (Logan is forcibly held down on a chair by an adult), **Ableism** (Internalized and Otherwise) (Ableist views surrounding autism are continuously expressed), **ABA Therapy** (Logan participated in ABA therapy, and numerous methods from it are mentioned and practiced, most notably "Quiet Hands"), **Dehumanization of an Autistic Character** (As a child Logan was treated as less than due to being autistic, most notably not being given personal autonomy)
> 
> -
> 
> Welcome to the newest installment of the series! If you hadn't already guessed, this will focus on Logan. Most of the stories I write come from a very emotional place, and this is no different. The trauma and experiences Logan goes through in this story not only happen to autistic kids in real life, but are actually quite common. Of course, there are also support systems and therapies out there for people with autism that are actually good and helpful, but they aren't the majority. This story is about Logan's past experience with the more common and bad therapies, and how they have impacted his life. I really hope you enjoy this installment, because it did come from a very deep and emotional place within me. I'd love to hear what you think about it. And remember, be polite!
> 
> My tumblr is [here](https://thechildoflightning.tumblr.com/). I provide updates about my stories there and sometimes post extra stuff. Feel free to send asks or communicate with me. Or don't. It's all up to you. <3
> 
> ~childoflightning


	2. Transition State

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A year after his first major break down around Patton and Logan was doing a lot better. Okay that was a lie. Logan was not doing better at all. The flame of anger that was inside him continued to burn just as bright. But, at least him and Patton had worked out a system. And it was working. Kinda. Okay the system really wasn't working at all but Logan didn't know what else to do about the anger within him.
> 
> Enter Virgil who brings a completely new perspective to the table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **TW: Sensory Overload, Intense Anger, Bullying/Exclusion, Ableism, ABA Therapies and Techniques, Autsim Speaks.**  
>  In-Depth TW in End Notes

Logan was angry. And he didn’t know why. But he had made a promise to Patton. So, he stormed back to his door and slammed the door shut behind him, oblivious to the visitor in the room.

“I’m angry,” Logan announced as he trudged across the room and started to pace.

His hands went to his hair, pulling it tightly before he mentally berated himself for the habit and shoved his hands deep in his pocket. Quiet Hands.

“Hmm,” Patton replied, “Do you know why?”

“No,” Logan replied.

He had been sitting in a lecture trying to pay attention. He was typing on his computer and the student next to him was doing the same, only one of his keys stuck. This meant that whenever he pressed it, it made an odd clicking noise that got on Logan’s nerves. And from in front of him another person kept knocking their heel against the ground. And this was just awful because it clashed with the stuck key on the keyboard and they were both not to a rhythm and out of tune and loud and annoying and Logan couldn’t concentrate.

“I just couldn’t concentrate,” Logan supplied.

“Why not?” a new voice piped up.

Logan whipped around, just noticing Virgil was there as well.

Logan shrugged and explained about the keyboard and the heel.

Patton muttered, “I’m sorry, that sounds really frustrating,” in that half way of his that meant he didn’t really understand but was trying too.

But that was okay, because Logan didn’t really get it either.

Virgil on the other hand, winced at the explanation.

“I hate things like that,” he commiserated, “Just sensory hell, right?”

The two others turned their heard to their newer friend.

Virgil moved from his slightly sprawled position to a more defensive ball at the glances.

“I- I just mean- Logan, you’re autistic, right? So I mean it’s not exactly the same, but like with my anxiety I uh- just get the overwhelmingness of it all I guess. I- I know it’s probably not the same- and- but I just get out? A bit? I guess?” Virgil stumbled out. Trixie shifted by his side to put her head in his lap.

And okay that sounded like a bit what happened to Logan.

“So what do you do?” Logan questioned as he took a seat on the floor from across from Virgil, “How do you ignore it?”

Virgil gave Logan a look that he couldn’t quite decipher.

“I don’t ignore it,” Virgil responded, “That’s kind of the whole issue. You _can’t_ ignore it. So I either ask the person to stop, or I move. And if it gets bad enough, I take a break.”

“But breaks are for when you’re not being Good. Shouldn’t you just ignore it? That’s what you're supposed to do,” Logan blurted out before he could even think of the words.

Virgil continued to give him a look, and now Patton was as well. Even Trixie had turn to stare at Logan.

“Lo, you can’t ignore them. That’s the whole thing of being overstimulated. That’s why you take breaks.”

“But- But taking breaks is _bad_ ,” Logan bit out, eyes suddenly getting watery for no apparent reason at all, “Breaks is for when you can’t be Good and you get angry and then you have to sit in the corner.”

“Lo,” Virgil's voice was low and dangerous, “What corner?”

And so Logan told them everything.

* * *

He awoke to a heavy blanket wrapped around him, lying down on the couch of the dorm room. He peered around and saw Patton and Virgil talking in a corner. Probably about him. He sighed and sat up, causing both of them to look over.

Virgil was the first to stand and walked slowly over to Logan before sitting down on the ground. When he did sit down he still left plenty of space between himself and the couch Logan was seated on.

“Hey Lo,” Virgil said, “I have a few questions for you if you’re willing to answer them. And if you feel up to it.”

Logan nodded and gestured for him to continue.

Virgil hesitated and one of his hands scratched at his arm. Trixie nosed him and he dropped both hands to tangle in her fur instead.

“It’s- Logan, you know you can say no, right? If you don’t want to answer the questions or if you don’t feel up to it right now, you know that’s okay, right?”

Logan stared at Virgil for a minute, and the two had a silent standoff.

“What do you mean?” Logan eventually asked.

Virgil scrubbed a hand through his hair and huffed.

“Sorry,” apologized Logan immediately. He wasn’t really quite sure what he was apologizing for, but he had obviously made Virgil upset. So it was important to apologize.

Patton, who had previously stayed quiet made a small choking noise at that.

Logan looked over and to his surprise, found tears in his boyfriend’s eyes.

Oh. Had Logan really been that mean to Virgil?

“What are you apologizing for?” Virgil asked.

And well, wasn’t it obvious?

“I made you upset,” Logan relied.

Virgil just sighed and shook his head. His eyes were wide open and earnest.

“Logan, you didn’t make me upset. What makes me upset is that someone told you that you weren’t allowed to have boundaries around the things that bothered you.”

And Logan just cocked his head. What did that mean?

“Logan,” Virgil hesitated, mouth clicking shut as he wrapped his arms around Trixie.

Logan gestured for him to continue.

“Logan, why do you get angry?”

* * *

_It was the second grade_ and Logan was spending less and less time in the Other room and more and more time in the Normal classroom. Logan didn’t know they had names, but he had heard other kids talking about it earlier this year. Logan wasn’t really sure what to think about the names. They words weren’t bad persay, but something about how the kids said it had always bothered Logan.

The room was loud. And Logan was trying to concentrate. So he started to hum softly. The humming technically did add to the noise, but the soothing melody allowed Logan to focus on it and just it, blocking all the other noises out. It allowed him to focus.

“Logan,” the teacher admonished, stopping the entire class as she read a page from a book, “Please stop humming. It’s distracting.”

Kids whispered around him, most notable the phrase, “Just send him back to the Other Classroom.”

Logan stopped humming. He didn’t like the Other classroom and did not want to risk having to spend more time there.

The teacher continued, and the previous noise just seemed to grow louder, and louder, and louder, and-

Logan clenched his fists, placing them on his knees not touching one another. Quiet Hands. He clenched his jaw shut as well and refused to let himself hum.

The teacher saw the movement and looked up once more.

“Logan, do you need to take a break?” she asked, staring at him over her glasses.

Kids snickered around him.

Logan just shook his head and clenched his fists harder. Taking a Break was bad. Taking a Break meant he was Not Good. He just had to sit here, feet on the floor, hands not touching, not moving, not making noise, and ignore everything around him. He could do that. It wasn’t that hard.

It wasn’t that hard.

It shouldn’t be that hard.

_Why was it so hard?_

* * *

“I get angry when I’m not being Good,” Logan explained as he remembered the story. “I’ll do something that I’m not supposed to and then I’ll get angry at myself for doing it.”

“Doing things like what?” Virgil asked.

When had Virgil started crying? When had Logan started crying?

“I’ll do things like flap my hands, or rock, or hum, or- or- take things off my desk because they’re not supposed to be there or not wear certain shirts and not say things right and forget to apologize or interrupt someone and- and _everything_. I do it all Wrong. And then I get mad at myself for doing it.”

And Logan could feel the anger he always felt building and growing in his stomach.

“And what helps you not feel angry?”

“The Corner.”

“But you said you didn’t like the corner?” Virgil probed.

Logan bit his tongue and clenched his fists, willing himself to just hold it all together.

“I don’t,” he admitted, “But I’m- or was- supposed to go there when I felt mad.”

“Okay,” Virgil said with a nod. “But what actually works to help you feel not as angry.”

Logan’s mind went blank. He didn’t know.

“Can I offer- Uh- Logan? Do things like flapping your hands and rocking and humming help you feel less angry?”

Logan shot him a look. Was Virgil even listening?

“No,” he said, voice rising, “Those things make me angry. That’s what I just said.”

“But do they?” Virgil challenged, “Do they make you angry or do the things after make you angry.”

Logan froze.

“What do you mean,” Logan muttered.

“You do those things because you get overwhelmed, right? And then you also get angry at yourself about getting overwhelmed.”

And Logan nodded. He did get overwhelmed. But he wasn’t supposed to. Getting overwhelmed by noises and things wasn’t okay. It wasn’t Good.

(But Virgil sometimes got overwhelmed by those things. Like the time they were in the eating hall and someone slammed their tray and Virgil fell to the ground and then needed to leave for a minute. And that was okay. Logan didn’t get mad at him for getting overwhelmed. So why did he get mad at himself?)

Logan cocked his head.

Virgil continued to talk, taking the action as a sign to continue.

“Like, remember that time when we were in the eating hall and I got overwhelmed?”

And Logan did, he had just been thinking of it.

“Let’s say that was you,” Virgil said, “You’re in the hall, and the sounds are too much and so you hum to block the noises out, okay?”

And Logan nodded. Because he did that. Even though he wasn’t supposed to hum.

“And then you remember you’re not supposed to hum. And so you stop yourself. But then the noise just builds and builds and builds until it's too much. And then you get angry at yourself for not being able to handle it. Does that sound right?”

It did. That was exactly right.

“So,” Virgil continued, “It’s not the humming or waving your hands or things like that that make you angry.”

But it was.

“It is though,” Logan protested.

“Is it?” Virgil asked, “Or do you do those things because they help you? Maybe it’s when you don’t do those things that the world around you gets too overwhelming.”

And they did.

“Logan, I mean- I don’t-” Virgil paused before restarting, “Logan I think maybe it’s not doing those things that make you mad. I think you get mad because you’ve been told not to do those things and so you stop doing them. And then everything builds around you until it's too much.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?”

Virgil shook his head fiercely, a firm expression creeping across his face.

“Logan, if those things help you, you should do them,” Virgil insisted, “You shouldn’t have been told not to. Like- Uh- Do you get mad at me when I do things to help me calm down? Because isn’t that why you do those things? To calm down?”

And Logan’s mind went blank. Because Virgil was right. And he wasn't sure what to think about that. Because he had been told those things were bad and Not Good and Not Normal and now here was Virgil telling him he should do them.

Virgil seemed to realize his dilemma.

“Just, think about it?” the other boy offered.

And so Logan did.

* * *

For the first time in his entire life, Logan googled the word autistic. He had never felt the need to before hand. Everything about it had always been told directly to him. He had never seen the need to go searching for more information. So when looked it up and he read and read and read.

And he learned.

The things he did were called stims. Almost all autistic people did them. Most autistic people thought they were good. Lots of parents of autistic kids thought they were bad. Stims helped you calm down. And process your environment. And show emotion. And also just because. Stims were everything and everywhere. Most of the things Logan did, he realized, were stims, he just hadn’t realized it.

And they were okay.

Okay, well that was debatable. Very debatable.

But almost everyone who actually was autistic was saying they were okay and that they helped and so many people had stories just like Logan where they were told to not stim and then they got angry.

(Logan even read something about the reason autistic people were often considered violent and angry was because those responses were a last resort due to not being allowed to use any other skills to calm down and self regulate. It argued that autism didn’t equal anger, but extreme anger was formed from being held back from every other healthy coping skill autistic people had. And without the healthy coping skills, people- anyone, not just people who were autistic- would form unhealthy coping skills. Like reacting out of anger.)

It made so much sense and yet it didn’t.

Or maybe it made so much sense and yet Logan didn’t want it to.

He also quickly learned that Autism Speaks, and ABA were considered awful and borderline (if not downright) abusive in the autistic community.

Logan’s mom belonged to the former, Logan had participated in the latter.

Two weeks later, Logan approached Virgil.

“I think you’re right,” he told the other boy.

Virgil didn’t ask what about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **In-Depth TW: Sensory Overload** (Virgil and Logan experience Sensory Overloads and talk about them, but neither experiences one), **Intense Anger** (Logan has major issues after repressing healthier coping skills), **Bullying/Exclusion** (Logan's peers make fun of him and see him as "other" or "not like them"), **Ableism** (Ableist views are expressed in flashbacks, as well as Logan dealing with internalized ableism), **ABA Therapies and Techniques** (Logan went through ABA and still follows many of its techniques, specifically "Quiet Hands." To be clear, this is not health as ABA is not healthy, but Logan believes it is at the time), **Autism Speaks** (It is mentioned Logan's mom belongs and has supported Autism Speaks).  
> One more chapter after this, and the next will be an even larger time skip. That being said, the wait will be a bit longer, because I leave for two weeks on Wednesday and will have zero access to internet or electronics. The last chapter is fully written and edited and should be up pretty immediately after I get back. Thank you for your patience. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading this. As all of you who have been reading this series for a while know, my stories always come from a deep emotional spot. This is is no different. I appreciate everyone who has stuck with me on this journey and continued to read my series. Please let me know what you thought if you feel up to it. Have an amazing day (or night- but if you're up late please try and get some sleep/stay healthy). As always, please be polite.
> 
> ~childoflighting


	3. Product

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nine years later and Logan is not only used to being autistic and finally managing his anger, but he also genuinely enjoys being autistic. But that doesn't necessarily means everyone else is as understanding.  
> -  
> Or, Logan and his parents have a much needed talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, I'm back from vacation and here with the third and final chapter of exothermic. I think a lot of you were expecting something a lot different then I'm providing you with, but I hope you enjoy it all the same.  
> -  
>  **TW: Borderline Panic Attack, Ableism, Autism Speaks and ABA Practices, References to Flashbacks (non-graphic)**  
>  **In Depth TW in End Notes**

The first time Logan let himself stim without stopping himself, it felt amazing.

The second time Logan let himself stim without stopping himself, he had his first panic attack, terrified that he was going to get in trouble for it. For doing it and enjoying it and not stopping.

The third time Logan let himself stim it was terrifying. He still feared getting in trouble for it, but at least he didn’t have a panic attack.

The fourth time Logan let himself stim it was a little bit easier.

And from then on, stimming just got easier and easier.

But even with this, Logan still always carried around this slight level of fear that he was doing something wrong. Until one day, he stopped being afraid completely.

And it all started when Virgil came home from work one day and slammed the door shut behind him before angrily kicking off his shoes in the hall.

“Virgil?” Logan asked from his spot on the couch.

His husband startled, leaping up at the noise and placing a hand to his chest. Not an uncommon occurrence. It seemed that no matter what his husbands tried to do to catch his attention, they always ended up frightening him. A thing all of them, including Virgil himself, had felt guilty about more than once. The strange thing was how Virgil’s eyes went wide and his breathing shallowed.

Kit immediately tasked, grabbing Virgil’s attention by pawing at his leg.

Virgil’s gaze went to his dog and he attempted to take a deep breath and calm down. He slid to the floor to allow Kit to cover him and perform DPT.

Logan sat where he was, but kept a careful eye on his husband’s unusual behavior. While Virgil did startle at unexpected noises and people, the last time something like that had almost sent him into a panic attack had been a while.

His first reaction whenever he saw his husband have a panic attack (or near to it in this case) was to immediately go to him and see what he could do to help. But Logan knew from experience that if Virgil was already calming himself down and had Kit at his side, it was better to just wait it out. If it got worse, Logan would step in.

After a minute of sitting on the floor with his dog, Virgil directed Kit off and stood with a sigh. He marched over to the couch and sat next to Logan.

Neither moved to initiate or ask for physical contact, so they both just sat there for a moment.

“What’s wrong?” Logan questioned.

Because, again, while Virgil did startle easily, almost lapsing into a panic attack due to being startled was not a common occurrence these days. Which meant that something was probably wrong.

Generally it was one of two things.

Option One: Something reminded Virgil of his trauma and he was bordering on a flashback. This was generally the case when he was more jumpy or unaware of his surroundings.

Option Two: Something had stressed Virgil out causing him to be more on edge, meaning his smaller triggers were more likely to act up.

If it was the first, Virgil probably wouldn’t have sat with him. Sitting with Logan would require awareness that Logan was both in the room and that Virgil himself wanted to interact with him. When Virgil was bordering on a flashback, he was generally much more out of touch with reality.

If it was the second, it was very likely Virgil would sit with him. A stressful situation was of course, stressful, but it wouldn’t detract from Virgil’s awareness of reality. Meaning he would probably actively search for comfort. Like sitting next to Logan on the couch.

“School,” was all Virgil replied with. His hands went to scratch his arms. Kit nudged them apart and provided the distraction of his fur.

“Did something happened?” Logan probed.

Virgil hesitated a bit but nodded.

“Just, parents frustrate me,” Virgil explained, “Apparently a kid went home and was saying something about the class and now I have a parent bitching to me.”

Logan frowned. That wasn’t it. That couldn’t be it. Virgil dealt with parents like that on the daily. And while they were annoyed and frustrated Virgil to no end, Logan had never seen Virgil come home actually panicking over a parent’s email. The only time Logan remembered Virgil being this upset over a parent was when one parent who was wearing a woody cologne had taken a threatening step toward him during a meeting, sending Virgil into a flashback.

But not only was that in person, but also an outlier circumstance. Everything about it was unusual. Getting an angry email from a parent could be upsetting, but wasn’t unusual, and not normally something Virgil panicked over. So what was wrong?

“It’s more than that,” Logan insisted, not unkindly.

Virgil gave him a glance with something Logan couldn’t decipher in it.

“Yeah,” he admitted uneasily.

“What?” Logan asked.

Virgil sighed and grabbed his elbows and pulled them in. Kit nosed them apart again. Virgil took to scratching his arms instead. Kit nosed his arms for a third time, but Virgil ignored it.

“Virgil, Kit,” he reminded.

Virgil looked down at the dog who kept trying to nose apart his arms.

“Can I hold your hands,” Virgil asked quietly.

Logan nodded and held his out, letting Virgil grasp them as a distraction.

“Okay so pretty much. This kid in my class is autistic. And the room was noisy today. And she was obviously uncomfortable with it. And she always has headphones with her. So I told her she could put them on if she wanted to, to block out the noise a bit. And I guess she mentioned it at home or something, because her parents are now very upset with me because apparently she’s not supposed to do that. And just-” Virgil made eye contact with Logan for a quick second.

And Logan could feel Virgil’s eyes on him and his skin crawled uncomfortable, but for some reason he couldn’t pull himself away like he usually did when his eyes crossed paths with someone else’s.

Luckily enough, Virgil broke it before it continued any longer.

“I just don't get parents,” he confessed, “It helps their kid. And I can’t help but think of my mom with me, and your parents, and just... I don’t get it. These things help.”

Logan swallowed harshly. He knew Virgil was right. It was something he himself had come to terms with. These things did help. And yet so many people didn’t want their kids doing them.

Why?

“I need to call my parents,” Logan said abruptly.

Virgil gave him a calculating look, one very obviously filled with concern.

Logan was quick to soothe him.

“It’s okay. It’s- I don’t think it’ll be bad. I think I need to do it. I think I’ve needed to call them for a while.”

Virgil nodded, hands still threaded with Logan’s own. Logan was very aware of those fingers now. And usually he liked touching Virgil. Usually. But for some reason the texture was too much for him right now.

“Uh, can- Is-” Logan reprimanded himself for stumbling over his words. He knew how to do this now. Why did one mention of another autistic kid not being allowed the proper coping skills do this to him? He took a breath and rephrased his question, turning it into a statement.

“Hey, V, I need to let go of your hands now. It’s making me uncomfortable. Do you think you can hold Kit’s fur instead? Or something else?”

Virgil dropped his hands with an easy smile.

“Yeah,” he replied, fingers going to thread through Kit’s fur.

They stayed silent for a moment.

“Do you want to talk more about it?” Logan offered, “It seems to have really frustrated you.”

Virgil nodded, and continued, a grateful smile across his lips as he let his frustrations out.

* * *

Later that night Logan called his parents.

“Lo,” his mom's voice came, “it's so good to hear from you. We haven’t talked in forever!”

And it really had been a long time. Logan had been avoiding it intentionally, calling just enough that his parents didn’t catch on. A pattern he quickly created right after he realized that the programs they entered him in, the things they put him through, weren’t okay.

“Hey Mom, can you get Dad? I need to talk to both of you.”

When he had both of them on the phone, he dropped his burning question. A question that had now sat with him for years but that he had never worked up the courage to ask..

“When I was younger, why did you send me to therapy?”

They took a minute to say anything

“Honey, because you’re autistic. You know this. You weren’t acting well so we had to do something, and it really ended it up helping,” his mom said carefully.

Logan sighed.

“What did you mean by not acting well?” he asked.

His dad spoke up this time, “Lo, you were always angry and yelling and screaming. And you could- you could get violent. Remember?”

“No, yeah, I remember,” Logan confirmed, “I meant before that.”

His parents went silent.

“What?” his mother asked.

“I only started doing that stuff- getting angry and stuff I mean- after I started going to therapy and separate classes. I mean what did I do before that that made you send me to them in the first place?”

“Honey- you were angry before that too.”

And Logan had thought about it. And he knew he wasn’t.

“No, I wasn’t,” he replied firmly but not unkindly, “Think about it. When was the earliest time I got angry like that? Angry enough that you thought I might hurt someone?”

Because Logan had. He had broken a kids arm once. It had been an accident, but was still something he felt immensely guilty about.

His parents stuttered over answers before falling silent, predictably coming to the same conclusion he had.

He hadn’t been angry before that.

A second later, they came to another conclusion. A conclusion that Virgil had first taught Logan years ago.

He became angry because of those programs.

Finally his mother's voice spoke again, this time with her own questions.

“Lo, Lo honey, did you get- Did you start to act that way because- did- did the therapy itself- is that where you learned- they told us that it was to help stop your anger and make you behave better- they told us they were helping and at first it didn’t seem to work but eventually you did. You got calmer and-”

“But I didn’t just calmer,” Logan reminded them, “I got so calm. I was only calm. You freaked out and thought I might be depressed because I was so calm.”

“But- I- what?”

Logan took a breath and blinked back tears he hadn’t realized were forming in his eyes.

“I’ll explain in a minute,” he promised them, “But first. Why did you send me to the therapy in the first place?”

They thought about it for a second.

“It was- It was pretty soon after you were diagnosed. You were three. You weren’t talking at all. And you kept flapping your hands and rocking back and forth and we didn’t know what to do. And so we sent you to a program the doctors recommended. And you did- you did grow angrier. But you also started to talk and not rock back and forth,” his father explained.

“Have you ever read stuff about being autistic?” Logan asked them.

“Of course,” they both replied instantly.

“No,” Logan replied as he squeezed his eyes shut. His fingers drummed on his pant leg, “I mean, have you ever read stuff about being autistic from someone who was actually autistic? And not someone who is from Autism Speaks? Have you ever read things autistic people have written about their own experiences.”

“No,” came his parent’s slightly guilty reply.

Logan sighed. He wasn’t surprised. Once upon a time, he hadn’t either.

“The things I did, like flapping my hands, and rocking, and humming, and carrying around that lumpy blanket as a kid- those things are called stims. And doing those things are good for autistic people. Autistic people need them.”

“But you stopped doing them and you were fine.”

Logan shut his eyes again.

“No,” he said, “No I wasn’t fine.” And he told them the story about asking about why the teacher’s names were only initials. And he talked about how stimming helped him calm down. He talked about how forcing him to not stim not only made it harder to deal with the world and about how it made him hate himself. He talked about how the anger formed in replace of stimming. And how the anger was pushed down and punished as well. And about how he came a shell.

There’s a reason people with autism are often related to robots. But it has nothing to do with autism, and instead the attempt at erasing every autistic trait about them until they were just a shell of themselves.

He talked about meeting Patton and Virgil and Roman. And he talked about stimming. And he talked about the fact that he still got angry sometimes and occasionally he still hated himself for it. He talked about how he had to learn the difference between healthy and unhealthy anger. Because all he had before was the second.

He talked about stimming. And flapping his hands and rocking back and forth and humming and blankets and his headphones and the click of his keyboard that he had gotten for the specific sound it made.

And most of all, he talked about the fact that autism wasn’t bad.

Because so many people said that it was; his parents, his teachers, friends, peers, the world, himself.

He talked about how the therapies autistic kids were put through weren’t to help autistic kids cope with everyone and everything else. They were for everyone else to cope with the autistic kid.

He talked about how therapies hurt autistic kids. But they made them seem more normal. And while the autistic kids were busy hating themselves and not knowing why, the parents were busy loving the fact that their difficult child became easier to manage.

He talked about how autistic kids weren’t difficult, but different. He talked about how parents were taught to squash down every autistic trait their child had instead of learning to adjust to them.

He talked about how therapy never helped him. He talked about how therapy made him mad and hurt and hate. He talked about how therapy had helped his parents.

Because Logan may have been mad and hurting and hurting, but at least he was easy to handle.

At least he acted normal.

* * *

By the end of it all, all of them were in tears.

And his dad just choked out one sentence.

“Logan, did you really hate yourself?”

“Yes. I did,” he whispered.

Yes. Yes. Yes.

“But you don’t now?” His mom this time.

“No. I don’t.”

No. No. No.

“Mom, Dad, I’m autistic. And I do a lot of things differently because of that. But I do those things for a reason. And they aren’t bad. They’re different. And they help me. And I spent years learning that I wasn’t a good person if I did them. But they’re a part of me. And I’m not going to stop doing them, because I can’t stop without hurting myself. And I like doing them. And it’s good for me.

“I can’t stop being autistic, and truthfully, I’m not sure if I’d want to anyways. I like being autistic. I like flapping my hands. I like humming. I like knowing what type of day Virgil is having just based on whether he sits on the couch or not. I like threading my fingers through Roman’s hair and feeling every strand. I like reminding Patton to not forget his lunch, because routine is drilled in me.

“The only time I didn’t like being autistic was when I wasn’t allowed to be. And being autistic can be frustrating. Sometimes it means coming home and not being able to talk. Sometimes it means screaming and having meltdowns. Sometimes it means crying and not knowing why. Sometimes it means that the slightest thing can send me spiraling. But that’s okay. I just work a little different.

“I’m happy being autistic. And not the type of obedient, normal autistic I was told I had to be to be loved. I like the type of autistic I am. And I don’t need you to like it or agree with it. But I hope you can. Because it’s important to me, having you support me for who I am. And I am autistic. Nothing is going to change that.”

The phone line went dead silent.

And then…

“Logan, how long have you felt this way?”

“Forever,” he breathed out, “But I didn’t realize it until sophomore year of college.”

“That was nine years ago.”

“Yeah.”

And suddenly there was sobbing from the other side of the phone.

“Mom? Dad?”

“You’ve been sitting on this for this long and haven’t told us?”

“Look- I get that you don’t like it but-”

“Logan. Our turn,” his father said firmly.

Logan shut his mouth.

“Logan I am so so sorry,” were the first thing out of his mother’s mouth., “I- I didn’t realize. We thought that this was good for you. And that it helped you. But, honey, have you really been hurting this long?”

Logan’s mind went blank, he had been expecting a lot of things, but any show of acceptance had not been it.

He then blurted out the first thing that came to mind, “You’re not mad?”

“Honey, we love you. Autism and all. We just thought...”

“What your mother is saying is that we were told that this would help. And you never, never told us differently. We didn’t know-”

“I didn’t know either.”

A loud sob came from the other side, and Logan pulled the phone away slightly. A lump grew in his own throat.

“Logan we were wrong.”

Logan froze.

“We are so so sorry. Of course we love you. We had no idea-”

“Logan you said that you like being autistic? The way you are, without all of the therapy?”

“Yes,” he replied.

“Teach us.”

* * *

The phone call lasted another hour, only ending because Logan, for the first time since he was five, told his parents that he was overwhelmed and needed a break. They, for the first time since he was five, told him of course and to take his time and to not push himself.

Logan was still trying to get used to the fact that his parents were okay with all of this.

And things weren’t sudden;y perfect between them either. Just because his parents admitted they were wrong and were now trying to learn didn’t make things perfect. It would take time and hard work. But for once in his life, Logan thought that it could work. He generally believed that his relationship with his parents could improve. They could love each other for who they were. And that was nothing short of a miracle.

* * *

The first thing he did when he hung up was search for each of his husbands and give them each a big hug. They all seemed slightly confused, especially considering Logan was rarely the one to go looking for physical affection, but Logan was done talking for now, and instead just texted them all a quick ‘I’ll explain later.’ Virgil seemed to understand the most, but still seemed more than a little lost.

After that, Logan read a book.

* * *

In bed that night, Logan finally explained.

“I called my parents,” he said to the dark room. It was easier to do this with none of them being able to see him, and him being equally unable to see them.

“I talked to them about being autistic. They’re okay with it. Me being autistic. Actually autistic, not like watered down, traumatizing therapy, hating myself autistic. And they want to learn about it.”

And truthfully, he didn’t need their approval. He knew he would be fine without it. He had already lived without it for years. But it was still nice having it.

It was nice having parents who loved him for he actually was, not for who they thought he could be.

And so that night, Logan cried tears of joy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **In Depth TW: Borderline Panic Attack** (Virgil borders on a panic attack), **Ableism** (Ableist thoughts expressed from numerous sources about autism), **Autism Speaks and ABA Practices** (Logan went through these practices and Logan's parents support Autism Speaks), **References to Flashbacks (non-graphic)** (the fact that Virgil experiences flashacks is mentioned)
> 
> This ending for me is very bittersweet. I've gotten such positive responses from people with this story, especially with people within the autistic community. Ending this story is therefore more than a little sad. Thank you so much for everyone who has read this and responded so gratefully and positively. And to the autistic community, this is and always has been for you. We are human and we may work differently, but that does not make us less than anyone else. We are not broken. And to everyone who has shared parts of their stories with me in the comments, thank you. Our stories matter and this story is just one of many. And to everyone who has read and not commented, or haven't shared stories, or anything else, I see you and appreciate you as well. I'll hopefully see you all in the next installment. And please remember to always be polite!
> 
> ~childoflightning
> 
> My tumblr is [here](https://thechildoflightning.tumblr.com/). Feel free to check it out or not. I sometimes post extra stuff to do with this series as well as posting all updates to my series there. Also feel free to ask me any questions or reach out to me there as well.

**Author's Note:**

>  **In-Depth TW: Sensory Overload** (Logan experiences two sensory overloads), **Meltdown** (Logan has a meltdown caused by sensory overload as well as other things. He gets angry and screams a lot), **Abuse of a Minor** (Logan is forcibly held down on a chair by an adult), **Ableism** (Internalized and Otherwise) (Ableist views surrounding autism are continuously expressed), **ABA Therapy** (Logan participated in ABA therapy, and numerous methods from it are mentioned and practiced, most notably "Quiet Hands"), **Dehumanization of an Autistic Character** (As a child Logan was treated as less than due to being autistic, most notably not being given personal autonomy)
> 
> -
> 
> Welcome to the newest installment of the series! If you hadn't already guessed, this will focus on Logan. Most of the stories I write come from a very emotional place, and this is no different. The trauma and experiences Logan goes through in this story not only happen to autistic kids in real life, but are actually quite common. Of course, there are also support systems and therapies out there for people with autism that are actually good and helpful, but they aren't the majority. This story is about Logan's past experience with the more common and bad therapies, and how they have impacted his life. I really hope you enjoy this installment, because it did come from a very deep and emotional place within me. I'd love to hear what you think about it. And remember, be polite!
> 
> My tumblr is [here](https://thechildoflightning.tumblr.com/). I provide updates about my stories there and sometimes post extra stuff. Feel free to send asks or communicate with me. Or don't. It's all up to you. <3
> 
> ~childoflightning


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